


Your Arms Around Me

by knightinmourning



Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo Fills [9]
Category: Good Omens
Genre: Asexual Character, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Fire, Genderfluid Character, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Near Death, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinmourning/pseuds/knightinmourning
Summary: Over the centuries, Crowley finds himself time and again seeking refuge in his angel's comforting arms. Whether from fire, flood, or the worst of man, Aziraphale is there to hold him close.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley/Shakespeare (Brief)
Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo Fills [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1425583
Comments: 3
Kudos: 100
Collections: Ineffable Husbands Bingo





	Your Arms Around Me

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Cuddles" square of the Ineffable Husbands Bingo.

The crack of lightning and boom of thunder in the distance destroyed nearly everything Crawly knew on this plane.

He couldn’t see the flames from here, just a red glow in the distance as the lush greens caught and burned. Walls crumbled and more lightning struck, a localized storm created solely as an output for God’s anger. Crawly didn’t bother cursing Her for forcing him out of his home for a second time.

Instead, he leaned against the side of the angel beside him. Adam and Eve had left with a flaming sword - _ more fire, always fire, why does it always have to be fire _ \- and somehow Crawly ended up in a position where the only person he knew was supposed to be his enemy. Aziraphale didn’t seem to mind, letting his wing wrap around Crawly as he cuddled close.

The wing was warm and dry, soft against Crawly’s skin. He’d never been human-shaped before, and even now he could feel some of his more serpent tendencies coming to the surface, seeking more of the heat from the body beside him. Resting his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, he let his eyes slide closed.

Adam and Eve had quite enjoyed sleeping, and if it meant he didn’t have to look at the red in the distance anymore, Crawly thought he might well enjoy it, too.

* * *

God flooded the Earth or, at least, this part of it, and Crawly found Aziraphale looking on in the crowd.

When the flood began, the two of them took refuge on the ark. It was the only place to hide. Outside, lightning cracked. People drowned. Children. _ Babies _.

Crawly cried. His own little rainfall in the dry darkness of the boat. Nearly everyone he’d met on this Earth, murdered by Her. The landscape, another home, destroyed again. By rain and lightning. He couldn’t help but flinch when he heard the_ boom _; the sound reminded him of too many things.

At least there was no fire this time.

“Oh, my dear boy, come here.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and sad, somewhere to the right of where Crawly was pressed into his corner. He didn’t even look before he launched himself into familiar arms, pressing his head into the angel’s chest as he was enveloped in a hug. Aziraphale pulled them both to the ground, Crawly half in his lap, still sniffling.

They were alone, except for the turtles, snakes, and lizards that lived in the reptile room where Crawly had taken refuge.

Gathering his courage to make a request he wasn’t sure would be met, he pulled his face away from Aziraphale’s chest and looked up into his eyes. “Wingssss?” He asked, the word slow in his mouth and ending in a short hiss. Suddenly embarrassed by his ask, he buried his head back into the fabric of Aziraphale’s robe.

Lips brushed the top of his head. “I’m not sure I can in this position. Not much room here. If we move outside, I might manage.”

But it was wet outside, and cold, and the rumble of thunder was still entirely too close. Crawly was already shaking his head, and then a moment later had a different idea. He unfurled his snake form, careful to keep it small enough that Aziraphale could handle him easily. Curling up on Aziraphale’s stomach, warm and comfortable, he felt hands cup his sides, holding him close.

Sound was dull in this form, and Crawly couldn’t feel the rumble over the life of the being under him. It was difficult not to note some of the qualities Aziraphale chose for his body, the gargles of a stomach working or the _ thump-ump _of blood pulsing through arteries and veins. He didn’t need any of these things, though Crawly supposed there was something humans found comforting about being around another living being, something they could sense, even if they didn’t experience it as he did now.

A thumb came up and stroked the top of his head and he let his eyes slide closed. Aziraphale was saying something, the sound rumbling under Crawly but not clear enough to understand aurally.

He’d have to move eventually, would have to let Aziraphale go back to his job calming the animals and helping the humans, but right now he was could be content in the soft embrace of the person he was quickly coming to think of as home.

* * *

Crawly _ liked _ Sodom.

He liked Gomorrah, too, for that matter. Two good cities, with people who knew how to have a good time. Lots of sin, and as far as sin went, it was the innocent type, if there was such a thing. He still couldn’t believe that the other side considered loving someone, genuinely and passionately, to be sinful in any way.

And yet here he was, watching another home burn.

Or, more accurately, he was running through the streets, looking for his _ blessed _ angel. Aziraphale, it turned out, was quite the sinner, to a certain definition of sin. And he was glad to hear that his friend also disagreed with what, exactly, was sinful.

It was some effort to reach out and sense Aziraphale, but Crawly managed to pause long enough in his sprinting search through the city to concentrate on the celestial energy the angel would certainly be giving off. As long as he hadn’t been discorporated and launched back to Heaven, at least.

But no, he was there, a warm blue glow standing bright against the red of the flames. Crawly took off towards it, reaching a collapsed house and not even hesitating before grabbing debris and pulling it off the rubble, desperate to reach Aziraphale before his body died. The blue light was fading over time, and as soon as Crawly realized, he doubled his effort, moving as fast as he ever had before.

“I’m coming, Angel! You just have to hold on!”

Aziraphale was unconscious when Crawly reached him. Which was lucky, because the man beside him was dead, skin untouched from the flames but soot on his face and bluish tint to his lips suggesting the smoke had gotten to him. Crawly barely spared him a look as he lifted Aziraphale and pulled him out of the ruin.

He walked out of the remains of the building, straight out of the city, and kept walking until they were on a tall hillside a couple miles away. From here, he could see glow, brilliant and entirely too bright, of both burning cities.

That wasn’t his concern at the moment, though, as he pulled his eyes from the destruction and toward Aziraphale, who hadn’t woken up. He still breathed, shallow and quick, and when he pressed his hand to the angel’s chest, Crawly could feel his pulse. The body was still alive for now, but it needed help. He’d never done anything like this before, saving a living thing with his powers. This was Aziraphale’s job, not his.

But if he didn’t do _ something _, he’d lose Aziraphale.

Crawly laid down beside him, the urge to get up and do something - run and find a human to assist him, yell for help, act out in some way with the energy he had, even if it did nothing - overwhelming. He took the angel’s hand in his, pressed a kiss to the robed shoulder, white cloth stained grey and black from the ash. Pressing his forehead in the place his lips had just brushed, he focused his energy into the body beside him, allowing their hands to act as a conduit.

After a long moment, he felt his heart beating in his chest, and knew it was in time with Aziraphale’s. Their breathing synchronized, and finally, _ finally _ fingers squeezed against Crawly’s.

Aziraphale didn’t wake that night, body too exhausted from the near-miss, but Crawly sat up, drawing him into his lap, and kept watch as he recovered, their hands still clasped near Aziraphale’s side.

* * *

_William Shakespeare _. The Bard.

The most brilliant poet to ever live.

Somehow - Crowley still wasn’t sure how or why - he was in bed with this human.

And Aziraphale, too.

They’d had a good time, even if Crowley still didn’t think it was worth the Effort, all those fluids and everything.

No, he quite preferred this bit, the after. Aziraphale was in the middle, one arm around William and the other cradling Crowley close. He could hear the man snoring softly and tried to be quiet as he spoke to Aziraphale.

“So, I take it this wasn’t your first time?”

“As if you didn’t already know that, my dear. You remember Sodom and Gomorrah. What about you? Was this your first time?” 

“Yeah.” Crowley was careful to keep his face straight and calm, suppressing a shudder even as the reminder of Aziraphale's dying corporation under his hands coursed through him.

In the dark, under blankets and clothes, Aziraphale didn't notice his response. “What’d you think?”

“I think I don’t mind anything that ends in me being wrapped in your arms.”

Aziraphale grinned and rubbed Crowley’s arm. “Always a romantic, you. Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up. Don’t forget, _ Richard III _ tomorrow night.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Crowley muttered as he let himself drift off.

* * *

The real miracle was that the church didn’t burn.

It exploded, sure. Was absolutely razed by the bomb that fell on it. But as Crowley and Aziraphale stood in the rubble, the actual flames were relatively mild. A win all around, including when Aziraphale’s fingers brushed Crowley’s as they handed off the books.

After their fight the better part of a century ago, Crowley hadn’t been sure he would ever get to feel Aziraphale against him again. 

“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?” He tried to play it off as nothing, walking away as he said it. Didn’t want Aziraphale to know how badly he wanted the angel with him tonight, after nearly losing him again. The look on Aziraphale’s face seemed revelatory, as if he’d just realized something about himself or Crowley he hadn’t before. But Crowley didn’t look, couldn’t meet his eyes, as he sauntered off towards the Bentley.

He wasn’t entirely expecting Aziraphale to slide into the passenger side a moment later, the books perched on his lap and one protective arm around them.

He definitely wasn’t expecting the angel’s hand to slip into his as he drove them back to the bookshop.

When they arrived, Crowley followed Aziraphale inside. “How would you feel about a drink?”

“I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

After that, he couldn’t remember how they ended up as they were now, a tangle of limbs on the couch. Clinging to each other, neither moving, though Crowley was speaking little half-truths, aborted sentences that didn’t quite convey all the thoughts he was having curled against Aziraphale for the first time in too long.

They’d have to sober up eventually, go back to their respective work in the war. But until then, they could enjoy each other’s company, touch, warmth.

* * *

After that, Crowley started hanging around the bookshop more often.

When it was open, he was a snake. It made things easier, helping Aziraphale by scaring customers or curling up in his pocket or against his collar.

That was exactly where he was today, coiled in Aziraphale’s pocket and peeking out at the world. There were few customers today, and no one had tried to buy anything, so they were sitting in a chair near the front of the shop, Aziraphale reading aloud to Crowley, though Crowley couldn’t quite hear well enough to understand the story.

He shifted enough that he could see pictures in the book, a yellow bear-like creature with a red shirt and something that might be a pig. Wanting to get a better look, Crowley slithered out of his pocket and up Aziraphale’s arm.

“Where are you going, Crowley?” So close to Aziraphale’s neck, Crowley could make out the words a bit easier. “That tickles!”

But Crowley wasn’t concerned with that as he continued up Aziraphale’s neck and settled himself into the angel’s hair. The curls pillowed his body, and the height gave him the perfect vantage point to see the book as Aziraphale read.

“Ah, I see. Alright, back to the Hundred Acre Wood, hmm? _ ‘Piglet was about to say that hums were splendid things, and Pooh’s hums were the best there were...’ _”

For once, Crowley didn’t sleep. He also definitely didn’t find himself getting attached to these silly characters, or the little boy who played with him. He didn’t do books, after all, and he wasn’t soft.

* * *

Or maybe she was, because the world was going to end, and she was nannying the antichrist, and she hadn’t hesitated to pick up a copy of Winnie the Pooh for the boy.

It wasn’t exactly demonic, but there was a scene where Christopher Robin shot Winnie the Pooh with a cork gun, which she was sure would get enough people up in arms about it that she could pass it off as evil.

Her concern right now, though, was the new kitchen help. A young man whose name she didn’t know, and didn’t care to find out, who leered at her every time he saw her. Crowley was done with his shit, but she couldn’t do much without arousing suspicion, so she just had to tough it out. And most days, she did.

“Hey, Nanny! Nice ass! It’d look even better on my dick.”

At least all the other men on staff were _ subtle _ in their harassment.

Herding Warlock back into his nursery and reminding him that burning the world didn’t mean being a jerk to women, Crowley allowed herself just a moment to collect herself.

It wasn’t until that night, after Warlock was in bed and she had a couple hours to herself that she made her way across the lawn, moving through the shadows so she wouldn’t be seen, to Aziraphale’s cottage.

It only took a couple knocks for the angel to open the door. “Crowley? Is everything alright?”

Crowley pushed into the cottage, shaking as she thought about everything that had been shouted at her for over three years now. Everyone has their breaking point, and she thought she might have finally hit hers.

“I can’t stand it, Aziraphale. The comments. And in front of Warlock, too. I’m just trying to do my job and care for this child. Who makes that into something sexual? I don’t even _ like _ sex, but if I say that, it won’t make the comments stop, they’ll just start calling me a prude in between describing how they’d fuck me if they had the chance.”

She was barely standing still, and Aziraphale was watching her with those wide, sad eyes as she ranted, but just as she was about to turn her ire onto him, he stepped forward, rested a hand on her arm and said, “Why don’t I make some tea and we can sit for a bit?”

The fight left her at the suggestion. She was here for comfort, not to fight. Aziraphale didn’t like seeing her frustrated or in pain, physically or emotionally, and was doing his best to help. Instead, she let herself collapse into a chair at his kitchen table as he busied himself at the stove.

“How’s Warlock doing? I haven’t seen him in a couple days.”

“Just recovering from a cold. You know how kids are, always sick with something or other. I’m hoping to send him out to you tomorrow, if he can stay awake through the afternoon.”

“I’m glad to hear. There’s a badger ravaging the garden that I’d like to introduce him to.”

“If you got rid of the badger, you might actually _ have _ a garden to tend.”

“The garden is doing just fine, thank you!” Aziraphale looked indignant, but Crowley raised her eyebrow.

“My next day off isn’t until Saturday, but when I have a moment, I’ll fix up the roses for you and remind the foxglove of its place.”

Aziraphale poured the tea and brought both cups to the table. “I wish you wouldn’t threaten my flowers.”

“Then threaten them yourself. They won’t grow unless you scare them a bit.”

Sighing and taking a sip, Aziraphale reached out and placed his hand on hers. “I worry about you, you know.”

“I’m fine, aside from the obvious.”

“Stay here tonight?” Aziraphale bit his lip after offering, dropping his eyes. “I don’t mean- I’m not trying to- Just, if you’d like to stay, you could.”

Crowley understood what he meant. The underlying reassurance of _ I’m not trying to bed you, I just want you to feel safe _. It was the core of their relationship for both of them - a line they hadn’t crossed since that night with Shakespeare - and as uncomfortable as Aziraphale looked right now, Crowley couldn’t answer in any other way but the positive. “Yes. Of course. I’d like that.”

They finished their tea and ended up on the couch, Crowley’s head in Aziraphale’s lap. She wasn’t sure what the angel was reading, just enjoyed being close to her friend, his fingers resting on her stomach.

She couldn’t stay the entire night. Warlock had been getting up around midnight, and she’d need to be there for him then. But until then, she could stay in this refuge, Aziraphale’s thigh under her head and his fingers between hers.

* * *

The world didn’t end, but that didn’t mean they were without scars.

Crowley had spent over an hour believing Aziraphale was dead, the flames licking at his body as he sat in the middle of the burning bookshop. Another home destroyed. He’d pushed himself to the end of his rope keeping the Bentley going and then stopping time.

The Bentley succumbed to the flames as well. Crowley tried not to think about it.

And then they were switching faces, attending each other’s trials and almost-executions. More fire, more fear.

When they clasped hands and shifted back to their own faces, Crowley pulled away from Aziraphale almost too fast afterwards, lingering fear making the entire sensation entirely too intense. Instead, they sat beside each other for a while, enjoying each other’s company, and then went to the Ritz for dinner.

They deserved it; the world didn’t end.

When they finished their dinner, hands touching on and off throughout the meal, they went back to the bookshop. It was whole again, and Crowley only hesitated for a moment before entering. Aziraphale didn’t speak beside him, just squeezed his hand and waited for him to unfreeze before leading him inside.

The bookshop was whole again. Aziraphale was whole, the Bentley. Everything was right in the world. For once, all the things he loved, all the things that burned, were made whole again, courtesy of Adam and his incredibly human heart. Crowley could never not be thankful for that, as he followed Aziraphale upstairs to the flat above the shop, and allowed himself to be drawn into the angel’s arms.

He tried to sleep as he was, but he awoke again and again throughout the night, whimpering or crying or shouting himself awake as Aziraphale held onto him.

Each time, he found himself desperate for more contact, clawing at Aziraphale to try to reach skin until eventually the angel pried his hands free and sat up to remove his shirt. There was nothing sexual about this as he burrowed against the angel’s skin, pressing his face into the soft flesh of his chest and letting himself breath in Aziraphale’s scent. He let his fingers slide against Aziraphale’s stomach and clasp at his shoulder, needing to feel him and know without a doubt that he was alive and present.

All the while, Aziraphale held him close, hands running down his back and through his hair as he mumbled reassurances.

This was how they stayed for the next several nights, Crowley dreaming of fire and death and Aziraphale staying by his side and gently reminding him with touch and voice that they were okay. That everything was okay.

It would be years before the nightmares faded and Crowley could sleep alone again, but after a point it became very clear that he wouldn’t have to, because Aziraphale was there to stay.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Crowley was there to stay, as he moved the last of his plants to a sunny window in the bookshop and felt Aziraphale’s arm wrap around his waist from behind. “Lunch, dear?”

“Absolutely, angel. Anywhere you want to go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading! Comments and Kudos appreciated :)


End file.
